


Perfection

by LadyBrooke



Series: Hidden Feelings [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Finwë wanted was to know why his son had done everything. It wasn't supposed to turn into this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfection

“Lord Namo,” Finwë said, bowing.

“Finwë,” Namo replied. “You have come to me in the hopes that I can force your son to speak to you and explain his actions after your death, haven’t you?”

Finwë felt the urge to shudder while standing in front of the Lord of the Halls, but suppressed it. “Yes, my Lord.”

“I can force him to explain himself, but are you prepared to deal with the consequences of such? Fëanáro will not react well to losing his control,” Namo said slowly. “I am not sure this is the wisest action, but if it is your wish.”

“It is,” Finwë stared at the wall. “I must know why my intelligent, brilliant son would have done something like this.”

“Brilliant son? Quite a difference from the words you used when your son first appeared here. Accusations that he should have known better, and that perhaps your court was right when they muttered that Nolofinwë was wiser than him,” Namo spoke in a calm voice, but to Finwë it felt as though they were hurled at him, cutting him to his very core.

“Please, my Lord,” Finwë begged.

“Very well,” Namo rose and gestured for Finwë to follow. They found Fëanor in the same place he had been since Finwë had spoken to him, huddled close to himself, as Amras kept watch over him. 

When they approached, Amras scowled, “Have you come to torment my atar more, Grandfather? Or perhaps you intend to disown him this time, in favor of Nolofinwë.”

Finwë winced at the spite present in his grandson, “Telvo, please. I didn’t intend to hurt him, I was merely shocked at his actions.”

Amras laughed, “Yes, let’s blame it all on Fëanáro. If I wanted to play this game, Grandfather, I’d go watch the weavings as Turukáno and his ilk do such. But you are Atar’s father, and I would have expected you at least to understand him. But no, you don’t. You never have understood anything.”

“Leave us, son of Fëanáro. We have business here that you do not need to see,” Namo broke in.

Amras looked ready to protest until a voice spoke up.

“Go,” Fëanor said. “Your defense is appreciated, but I am capable of facing them on my own.”

“Atar,” Amras said, before going silent as Fëanor lifted a hand. “Very well, I shall leave you all.”

There was silence as Amras left, before Fëanor turned to the other two. "Tell me, for what purpose have you come here? To tell me again how faithful Nolofinwë has finally achieved what he has wanted his entire life and become your favorite son, Atar? Or perhaps, Namo, you have come to tell me that I am to be taken entirely away from those that give me comfort."

“Finwë came to me and asked me to make you tell him why you committed your acts, Fëanáro,” Namo paused. “I have decided to fulfill his request.”

For one brief, horrible moment, Finwë caught the look on his son’s face after he heard Namo speak. Fëanor looked once more like the little boy who had just found out that his father had lied when he promised that Miriel would return one day, his face crumbled in an expression of disbelief that had only publicly graced his face three times in life.

And then it was gone, as Fëanor tried to flee in fear, something he had never done before. Namo was staring at him sadly now, as Finwë tried to comprehend what was going on. Fëanor found that he was unable to flee, and instead refused to look at them.

“Speak, son of Finwë,” Namo ordered. Finwë felt sick to his stomach.

“No!” Fëanor sounded panicked, “No! You can’t, you can’t do this.”

Finwë moved forward, trying to embrace his son, who turned away once more. “How could you do this to me, Atar?”

“I wanted to know why you would kill so many other elves, why you would burn your own son to death, why, Fëanáro?” Finwë said, trying to keep himself from being sick.

Fëanor twisted, and threw his hands over his face in an attempt to keep silent, clawing at his own mouth. Though they were but spirits, their forms copied what they would have done in life, and trails of blood started to drip down onto his lips. Finwë desperately lunged forward and pulled his son’s arms away, forcing them to Fëanor’s sides.

With his hands removed from his mouth, Fëanor had no choice but to speak, “I don’t know! I wanted to avenge you, because that’s what a good son would do, is it not? A good son wouldn’t have let their father die in the first place though, but I’m not that good a son, so I had to go avenge you. But I failed at that, and Nolofinwë hasn’t yet, so it’s no wonder you would prefer him. I have to be perfect for people to love me, Ata, but it’s so hard. Do you think you could love me at least a little though?" Fëanor tried to twist out of Finwë's grip as he spoke, but was unable to.

Finwë was crying now, as he held onto his son and looked at Namo. “What did you do to my son? He would never act like this.”

“You wished to know why your son would act this way, and so I have shown you,” Namo said. “Your son, stripped down to nothing more than the scared boy he has always been underneath everything else. The scared son you have never seen. Is this not what you wanted, to understand him?”

Finwë turned away and began to whisper in his son’s ear, as Fëanor kept crying out and Namo faded from view.


End file.
